Dear Lover

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Please feed my soul or I’ll be forced to let go

Wasted are my thoughts. Thoughts of those who weren’t worth my time. Empty shells have come knocking, but once they saw my spirit they fled, leaving less then dust behind. There is one, who is different from the rest.

He does more than feed my soul, he nourishes my psyche. He loves me wholeheartedly. I whispered words of affection into his ear. And he asked me to say them aloud, strong and clear.

“Dance with me, transcend with me, challenge me, be everything I ask you to be, be more than what I ask you to be, be song and dance for not me, but for you. Be life and death with me, progress with me, kill time with me, intertwine both our minds for me, smile with me, cry with me.

For you, I would write a million poems because there are simply not enough words to describe the type of being you are.”

Some say truth hurts and a lie is bittersweet, but I would rather you, be honest and kind to me. Say what you mean, don’t be silent because in this moment, there exist just you and I. In this space we share, this small amount of time. We are in unison in almost every kind of way. We are limited, when it comes to how long we stay. And he never calls me beautiful, because beauty never lasts. But he calls me, his and I tell him every night that he is mine. For we are flawed and free, but unlike our flesh, this love will always be.

When she calls

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When she calls, you must decide whether or not you will answer. She resides in all of us, calling us all back to the depths from which we came. She is inside the soul, and she is calling us home. So if you are looking for me, you’ll find me in the mountains or by the sea, maybe with my head in books or surrounded by trees. Either way you’ll now know where to look. I am home. A chapter in Mother Nature’s book.

Le but de l’âme

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I could easily be that woman.

The agreeable one, the one who smiles and laughs…even when I find remarks less than humorous.

I could get married and have children

Cook and clean.

Look nice and delicate.

Be nice and delicate.

Capture my beauty through photographs,

I take of myself.

Be in the moment, live for now.

Love in seasons.

I could be that woman and many would love her.

You see, there is nothing wrong with a woman like this.

If anything, I would prefer to be her.

But she is not me, no matter how earnest the attempt.

I am a thought, always evolving.

Never satisfied…

How could someone love a woman like this?

One who rarely smiles,

One who rarely understands herself, but is in constant search for more,

More of what she, herself does not know.

Strange, how there are so many books, testimonies and scriptures explaining what it is that wise men seek…

Even the Bible states that a man of wisdom seeks knowledge.

But what of my longing, what of my questions?

The abundance of my happiness must stem from what?

Marriage, love, fertility, material belongings? All beautiful things. All fleeting, fleeting as am I in this moment. Fleeting like the short span that is a lifetime, but never like my words.

The soul’s purpose.

The story of the sun

Once upon a time, there lived a star. She was obsessed with the idea of love, so she would watched as all the other stars shot across the galaxy to meet one another in unity… But because she was too fearful to give her heart away, too afraid to join all the other shooting stars, she waited and waited, until she grew older. So much older, that all she began to attract were cold, small, lifeless rocks. She unknowingly began to warm all the rocks nearby with all the things she imagined love to be like. These rocks would soon form an orbit, all rotating around her light. But her poor heart, she kept it in a jar protected by a ring of fire. Far from harm, but also so far away from love. And this is the story of the sun and how our planets were formed.

Pottery

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Rough hands

Your veins so close to the surface, that is your skin

Covered

Wet clay, splattered all over your black apron and white T-shirt, carefully placed on your hands face

Earthly, Heavenly

I watch your hands, as you select your clay

High fire, low fire

Your hands form the mold

Your mind feeds my curiosity

You see, it wasn’t your face I fell for, nor your words

It was your hands and your ability to take nothing and create something, that could make me feel

Feel every emotion, that ever existed

All at once

Heritage

Mocha complexioned girl, with intuition beyond her years.

Struggles rooted in the ancestry of her blood.

The rhythm of song and dance living in the marrow of her bones.

Far before she knew how to walk.

Words formed in her mind, before she could talk.

She was alive in more ways than one.

Chakra, the earth’s spirit flowing like water lilies down the curve of her sultry body, line.

Intertwined like vines on aged structures. Demolished. Broken. Bind.

The fight that Mother Nature won.

Recreated and reborn every morning slightly after dawn. A miracle and a blessing it is.

That she dwells in her and her light is now mine and we are one, one divine human being.